Earth Angel
by flaws-and-all
Summary: So there was this rumor going around Hell about the 'perfect kid in South Park.' That he can't sin. Supposedly, it isn't possible. Turned out the rumor was true, more or less.


_Disclaimer; I don't own the characters from South Park, no matter how often I wish I do. Also, please excuse mister McCormick's sailor talk. He just don't give a damn. Enjoy, less than three._

**Earth Angel**

So there was this rumor going around Hell about the 'perfect kid in South Park.' That he can't sin. Supposedly, it isn't possible. Of course, I thought it was a lie. Considering how often I sin myself, I know how easy it is to do, so who the fuck is living without making such an easy mistake? It's second nature, especially in our town.

Hi. Kenny McCormick. Always dying, never dead.

At about eight o' clock this morning, I did something really fucked up. I mean, I guess it was. I saw no harm in it, but to others it was seen as "shameful," so for punishment, Satan sent me up to Heaven and God made me a wanderer for the day. Usually, I hate it. Usually, there isn't shit to do but listen to useless conversations about shit that doesn't matter from the mouths of people that don't fucking matter. Excuse me, I know I'm not the best person, but at least I know what's important. I know what I'm doing, I just choose to be a dick sometimes. I do have a limit though, unlike some people in this stuck up mountain town. Most adults, I can handle. Even my own parents are tolerable now. But fuck, the Stotch's. They make everyone in South Park feel better just for not being like them, considering that all they do is put their random fucked up problems on display and bitch about their otherwise wonderful life and make their son feel like shit. Which brings us back full circle, to Butters, the supposed earth angel. Turned out the rumor was true, more or less.

* * *

With absolutely nothing to do for what would be about twenty three more hours, I decided to pay Butters a visit. It never crossed my mind to invade homes during wandering, even though it totally sounds like something I would do. Even though it was only nine in the morning on a Saturday, I was almost sure I would wander in on Butters doing something interesting. He seems like an interesting kid. I was so right.

I found him sitting Indian style with a bowl of cereal in his lap, watching Barney. It was a good thing he couldn't hear me, or see me, 'cause I was laughing hard as shit for a good five minutes. After thinking of all the other Saturday mornings that were probably spent this way, except with possibly shorter shorts and a bigger Hello Kitty face on his shirt, if one exists, I noticed how happy it was making him just singing along to these 'positive moral value' songs, and even though I found myself immensely jealous of his innocence for a moment, it made me smile.

I watched the adorable act for as long as he let me. That is, until he got up to put his bowl in the kitchen. These old Barney songs knew what's up. I don't know about alphabet soup, but turning off the water when brushing your teeth. That's a lesson to help save on the bills. When Butters came back, after Mother Goose came out of fucking nowhere, I found out that Butters is very energy conservative. Either his parents are freaks about that too, or it's something Barney taught him. 'Don't waste electricity or the planet will overheat and the Government will turn on it's citizens.' I guess that's why I don't write Barney songs.

He turned off and unplugged his TV and DVD player and plugged in his stereo system. He found a station that played the whitest music I've ever heard. Super religious without being at all religious. And sad. He vacuumed to Angel by that woman that does the depressing commercials, he folded to some song about strawberry wine and put away to a song about being beautiful and feeling lovely.

Fuck, this kid needed a long hug. Conveniently and coincidentally, I found an easy opportunity to give him one. He had suddenly stopped all movement and was just sitting on his bed doing nothing. Butters is pretty weird. Super productive and then just sitting. Who fucking does that? Well I mean, guess that's a stupid question. I held him close and I could tell he felt me. It as obvious by the tears. I'm sure he had no idea why he was crying, but he just kept wiping his eyes and smiled through it. I wonder how often he gets hugged.

New objective in life; hug Butters every time I see him.

He took a deep breath then got up and walked to the bathroom. I heard the water turn on. Fuck tests. It was either sit and wait or watch and learn, and no one said I couldn't sin.

* * *

The more I learned about Butters this strange and interesting Saturday, the more I wanted to learn. He has quite an alluring agenda. After returning from his chilling shower, he collapsed on his bed for at least ten minutes. The shower was chilling for me, but Butters takes the hottest fucking showers. It must feel good to him. I wonder about it. Anyway, Butters has a voice. A sick, beautiful voice. He sang to the music playing from his room with all this passion I'd never seen from him, and would randomly smile or laugh in the middle of a lyric. I had become enticed by everything that was Butters. His voice, his personality, his slender banging body.

New, new objective; just get Butters all for myself.

Sure, everyone could use some of his love, but I'm selfish and I like it that way. So selfish that I couldn't help but wrap myself around Butters as he lay on his bed. He was lying with nothing but a towel on. You'd think he would understand what a wonderfully easy rape opportunity this is. If I was alive right then.. well, if it was me, it wouldn't very well be rape. I'd make sure of that. So with my thoughts drifting just as they are, I was all over Butters. It was very nice, but then he opened his eyes and as he shifted, I let go. With my new, new objective, I'm sure there'll be another occasion where I get to be so close. I can be persuasive, and I've just now realized that his nervousness when talking to and about me that I never really thought much of before, might have very well been because of an attraction. Goddamn, I'm a lucky kid.

He put on a pair of light blue boxer shorts, a big shirt with a big ass strawberry on the front and a pair of loose jeans, then turned off and unplugged his stereo and moved out of his room. I followed him to the kitchen. He opened the pantry and pulled out an apron. I got to see how a full pantry looks, woohoo. He put the apron on and started pulling out all of these ingredients. Eggs and flour and frostings and sprinkles and chocolate chips and all this fucking shit I hadn't even seen before. Stencils and weird shaped pans and huge bowls and shit. With the middle of the counter full, he moved to the edge by the toaster and plugged an iPod nano into a docker. Butters needs a phone that has a shitload of space for music and apps and unlimited phone calls and texts messaging and that can take pictures and send pictures to my shitty ass phone.

Off topic.

A fluttery melody blared from the tiny machine, and he began moving and spreading and dumping ingredients, and singing. He sang and moved his hips and spun around and curtsied and it was gorgeous. Of course he listens to Disney princesses while he cooks. I don't care what weird shit was going on with Walt, his company had a damn good influence on this kid. He stopped to pretend he was dancing with his 'prince.' You can guess who filled the empty space. 'I' spun him and he smiled so radiantly. I completely forgot I was on earth for punishment.

After our little dance that ended with a kiss because Butters imagined it should, he focused more on actually making food. I sat on the table and watched him. It was like sex. Like dirty, fucked up sex, the way he licked the raw batter off of his fingers, the way he bent down when he dropped something so that it was a clear shot, the way he shifted and maneuvered and did all these things because he obviously thought no one was watching. It had me spent.

When he was finished, after I had mentally finished a few times, he had made two cakes, a dozen cupcakes, a set of cinnamon rolls and fucking cookies. Butters liked to work hard. Definitely noted. Everything looked delicious. He tossed a table cloth over the table that saw everything, set the cookies in the middle, then sat on the couch and waited to frost the rest. I followed him to the living room

* * *

"I wonder why I don't feel so lonely today. It's so much easier to smile for some reason."

_You monster._

"I really am horrible. Even knowing the way Ken died this morning, this is the happiest I've felt in days."

_You can't even understand yourself._

"I don't understand, but I know that today's different. I keep feeling something. Something that I don't usually feel."

_Why is today any different than before?_

"I don't know. I keep getting wrapped up in this... whatever it is, and it lulls me. It makes me forget everything. It's here."

_Everything?_

"I'm safe."

_Verbal? Physical? Mental?_

"That doesn't matter."

_Degrading? Humiliating? Diminishing?_

"None of that matters."

_Reminisce. Reflect. Remember._

"Nothing that far back matters."

_They only stopped just last week._

"It's warm. It's warm and welcoming and fulfilling and.."

_Love?_

"Maybe my wishing.."

_Don't let go of this feeling. Keep it close. Keep it no matter what._

"My... angel? Uhm... well, if you are my angel, please come back whenever you can. I don't know why you're here today, but I'd love for you to be with me every day. It gets lonely sometimes. I know I'm selfish and there are more important things to fix than loneliness, but if you're my angel, it won't make much of a difference to keep me safe from a little less of a distance. Uh, please and thank you. Amen."

* * *

Okay, more important then the fact that Butters happily talks to himself, he thinks I'm an angel. The fuck? Only reason I'm here specifically is because I killed myself _again_, God and Satan didn't feel like fucking dealing with me, and I felt like invading someone's privacy. Yet this angel thinks that I'm holy. Maybe this was supposed to happen. Maybe I was supposed to hear the rumor, maybe God was in on it with Satan, and they knew I'd get curious. Maybe they're tired of seeing me all the fucking time. Maybe they think I need some stability in my life. I do. I'd fucking love some stability.

When this wandering is over, I know what I'm doing.

Butters talked and frosted. Not to himself anymore. He talked to me. If he knew he was talking to me, he wouldn't have talked so much, but he didn't, so he did. He told me why having an angel to talk to made him feel so comfortable. He told me the many occasions that no one ever listened to him. He told me all that he'd been through, things I couldn't comprehend him ever going through. He told me all the shit the world had thrown at him. Who he was jealous of. Who he wished he could be like when it comes to fighting back. He basically told me he was in love with me. He removed his apron and fought his stutter to tell me that though his love might be considered forbidden, it was pure. Like he needed to tell me shit, but he thought he was talking to an angel.

Once the dishes were done and put away, the kitchen clean, Butters spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning the rest of the already clean house, and talking. He wouldn't stop talking unless he realized he no longer felt me, then he would go silent until he felt 'the warmth' again. He relived points of his childhood, telling me how things were with the boys while I wasn't around. Then he talked about things at home. His dad is more of a dick than I'd thought, and it seems like his mom's just an accessory, except for when she pulled that crazy shit all on her own, trying to drown him.

I can't wait to actually be there for him.

His parents came home and said no greeting but his name. He smiled to them and they stayed in their own world. After making sure nothing was out of place, he made his way back up to his room, and I followed. He picked up his flip phone and fucked with it for a while. Someone texted him while he was plugging things in. I'm jealous, I've gotta get his number. He returned to his phone and checked his message, a tired smile on his face.

"Stan and Kyle feel bad for the way he left this time. Them and a few others left flowers at his graves."

Graves. How funny. I must be the only one on earth to have multiple empty graves. And so what I did is frowned upon, but was it really that bad? I feel like I've done way worse shit in my immortal lifetime. It wasn't the first time I've killed myself, and it wasn't the first time I'd done it like that. I guess it is impacting when someone shoots themself in the head, but they know I'll come back. They all know. Even Butters wasn't stressing. Sweet of them, though, to bring flowers. Touching.

Time moved slowly before dinner. Butters continued with his videos, finishing Barney and starting The Little Mermaid. Cutest shit I've ever seen in my life is him saying everything Ariel says, just the way she says it. "I'm sixteen years old, I'm not a child anymore." Yum. Or "Run away with you? This is all so... so sudden." Or even better, "Daddy, I love him!" Perfect. I'm so excited to force my way into his every day.

After awkward dinner was eaten in awkward silence with his awkward parents, he did the dishes and, yet again, retreated back to his sanctum. I could tell he was hesitant on leaving before knowing if he was truly 'allowed' to, but still his parents didn't do much to even acknowledge his existence. Hopefully this makes things easier for me, them not caring that he's constantly in his room all the time. He changed into his cute skimpy pajamas and finished his movie, then brushed his teeth and switched his stereo on.

Whatever station he listens to, they play love songs at night. And the DJ lady has a really soothing voice.

He lay in bed staring at the wall, quietly singing along to all the songs he knew, which would be all of them, and waited for himself to feel tired. This is where he sinned, if it can really be labeled as such. After lying in bed for a good half hour at least, I could tell he wasn't remotely tired. I sat at the corner of the bed and watched him, but because I wasn't touching him, he must've felt lonely. It's the only reason I can think of for him to jerk off. Loneliness can do some crazy shit, like cause you to shoot yourself in the head. Trust, I've been there.

It was sad. Him curled up and slouched as if he was ashamed. His slow movements, savoring the touch. His faces were gorgeous, but everything else was sad. I didn't want him to feel guilty for wanting love. He needed it, and being the kind soul that I can occasionally be, I lent a helping hand. Not that I'm into tears during intimate moments such as this, but fuck, it was beautiful. There was a point where the pace quickened and he was stuck between whispering gratitudes and apologies, and I wished I could wipe those tears from the corner of his eyes, but alas, I wasn't tangible at the moment. If I was, I would've made sure he felt all the love in the world.

He almost silently finished, and I held him while he calmed down. I waited for him to come back from the bathroom and held him throughout the night. He fell asleep in a matter of minutes, and I held him and stared at the magic that is Butters.

Whatever the fuck made this happen, fate, luck, God, Satan, I just want to say thank you. Thanks a fucking lot. I'm super stoked to live again.

* * *

Okay. This was very fun to write. Songs were Angel by Sarah Mclachlan, Strawberry Wine by Deana Carter, and Lovely by Sara Haze. All very beautiful songs, I love them so much ahhmyGillies. The radio station referenced was 103.5, I actually listen to it when I go to bed because it's so soothing.~

Anyway, look forward to more of these stories inspired by older song titles. Kay, baii.


End file.
